


Smuggling Hope

by mcal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 15:50:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16452812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been sentenced to one year in Azkaban. He grows listless and lonely and believes himself to be forgotten. Until he receives a surprise visitor.





	Smuggling Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Alpha thanks to Kyonomiko. She's perfection for the time she spends with my questions and words. Beta love to CourtingInsanity. I would be lost without her.
> 
> Thank you to those who nominated me to participate, this was such an honor. My prompt was Christmas decorations. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

**1998**

The thing to remember about Azkaban was that it was not originally built to house British wizarding criminals and lawbreakers. The concept of ‘prison’ was never on the table; although Draco considered it plausible - and very likely - that the fifteenth century Muggle sailors who were lured and tortured here for the sadistic pleasure of the Dark Wizard (self-titled ‘Ekrizdis’) would have considered this hell-hole a fate worse than Muggle prison.

Because, while no longer under an autocratic cloak of darkness and now free of soul-devouring Dementors, roaming at will to feast on any spark of hope, Azkaban remained a citadel of torture and darkness.

As far as Draco was aware, all individual cells were dank and musty, enchanted so that just enough light to distinguish between one’s food pan, water pan and waste bucket penetrated. There was no chance of catching a consoling glimpse of a burning sconce from the hallway, as those had been charmed to dim once prisoners set eyes on the flickering flame of orange, gold and red.

Apparently, light of any form breeds hope.

Every empty moment bled into the next, with no possibility of counting seconds, minutes, hours or days because the large, cold stone walls had been inlaid with enchantments to block out all contact of the outside world. Signs of weather, seasons - anything that could be used as a distraction from the torturous anguish of solitude - were unavailable to the wretched souls enclosed within.

Draco Malfoy had been sentenced to a year of this desolating existence in the aftermath of the war. An entire year with little more to occupy his mind than to ruminate at how very bleak his short life had turned out to be; how inconsequential he and his family had been in the end; how futile, unavailing and fallacious he truly was.

This perpetual state of being, heavily laden with agonizing emptiness, guilt and shame, was worse than death - or so he assumed.

Maybe he should have hexed Potter when the Chosen-Undying-Prick had flown back for him in the flaming Room of Hidden Things.

Maybe he should have begged Mother to flee to France after Father had been arrested for the Department of Mysteries disaster, with Severus taking an Unbreakable Vow to keep her safe at all costs, and he himself left to bear the brunt of the Dark Lord’s lethal wrath.  

Maybe he should have thrown himself between Aunt Bella and Granger, shielding the fragile witch from the relentless torrent of unimaginable pain.

Perhaps that was what was worst about this unceasing nightmare; Granger’s screams haunting him when dozed, dreamed, or lie awake in his cot. The memory of Granger writhing in agony on the floor in the room he’d flown his first broom in as a toddler - because Mother had feared he would lose balance over her flower beds (questionable logic he’d never understood, but Father had never let him ask Mother) - played on repeat in his head.

It was one of the few consistencies in this hell-hole of isolation and misery, that at any moment he could conjure the image of Granger, helpless and broken. Her usual honey-chocolate curls muddied, tangled and matted. Her delicate and youthful curves buried under torn, dirty and baggy layers. Her chocolate eyes wide and begging.

And he’d stood back and watched, as if approving the cackling, maniacal insanity while Granger had squirmed, thrashed and pleaded for mercy.

“Prisoner 650!” a guard bellowed briskly over the screeching and creaking of Draco’s cell door.

Draco blinked himself into consciousness, visions and howls of torture fading into the background.

“Get up!” the guard demanded, even more brusque and put out than usual.

“Already time for a bath again?” Draco drawled, terse and disdainful. Maybe if he continued giving the impression this was all trivial, he could one day believe it himself.

“NOW!”

A chill of fear shot through Draco as hard footfalls thudded and echoed in the cell. His body tensed on an involuntary shudder and he drew a sharp breath as he pushed himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of his cot.

He forced his eyes into haughty slits as he moved across the room, awkward and cautious. His muscles felt stiff and cold, and he slowed his steps even more, fighting through the urge to collapse. How long had it been since he walked around his cell last?

He met the guard’s dark, hooded eyes as he held out his hands, allowing the magical binding to take hold of his wrists and ankles.

“Death Eater scum!” The guard sneered, shoving Draco into the blindingly dim light of the corridor.

Stumbling, Draco’s shoe caught on a large stone in the uneven flooring and he crashed to the ground, white stars showering across his vision and a sharp pain lancing down his side. He groaned, hot tears pooling in his eyes.

“On your feet, Prisoner,” the guard barked, glaring down at him.

Draco grit his teeth, holding in a sharp hiss, blinking rapidly as he rolled and rose slowly. He would not - he could not - give the guard any more satisfaction, even as the titles ‘Death Eater scum’ and ‘Prisoner’ rolled around in his mind while they stalked up the corridor. He loathed himself for believing more and more that that’s all he would ever be. He was forever branded by his past.

Coming to the end of the corridor, his heart thudded and slammed against his breastbone, galloping in panic as the guard shoved him right, instead of the usual left for the shower facilities. But before he could decide if he was going mask his sudden growing fear with a scoff or loud protest, the guard stopped them in front of a door, threw it open, pushing Draco inside.

“Here!” the guard ground out, gruff and unhappy as Draco’s gut twisted and clenched.

_He was being left…_

“Wait!” a new voice called out from within the room with Draco. A female voice...

Draco jerked his head to the left, blinking to adjust to a properly lit room, coming to realize he was standing a few feet away from...

“You will remove his magical restraints now,” Granger commanded, stepping right next to Draco, staring down the guard like a fearless lioness.

He sucked a startled breath which immediately caught in his throat. She smelled of fresh linen and chocolate with a hint of something feminine and floral, and Draco had never before felt such nauseating shame over his own hygiene, or lack thereof.

“I will do no such- “

“Yes, you will,” Granger cut in, crisp and firm. “He has no wand, it was snapped when he was sentenced, and his magic has been bound.” Granger pointed down to the cuff around his ankle as she fearlessly continued. “He looks as though he has been malnourished for months now,” - she waved over the length of his thinned physique and his face burned with shame at the debatable ‘food’ he’d snubbed over and over again “- and what’s more,” Granger continued, “I was promised by Minister Shacklebolt himself full cooperation in this site inspection.”

Site inspection?

But of course that was why she had come. Of course this brave defender-witch would now be fighting for the rights of those she deemed oppressed. She was here for a job, and he was foolish to have dared believe for even half a moment that she - or anyone - would just visit...

The guard swore under his breath and an instant later, Draco’s wrists and ankles were free again. “Half an hour,” the guard clipped, slamming the door shut.

Draco wasted no time in removing himself from close proximity with her, lunging backwards, making hard contact with the door.

“Are you alright?” she queried gently.

_Stupid question..._

“Stupid question, Granger.” Shit. He ground his teeth hard, mentally berating himself. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He opened his mouth again to apologize or...

“Right, you’re right. I apologize, Malfoy.”

Draco blinked, mouth hanging stupidly ajar. She was here. In Azkaban. In the visitors room. Her eyes were warm and bright. Her hair was still bushy chaos, but now shiny and glorious, the kind hands roamed and got lost in. The physical manifestation of his shame and nightmares was standing a meagre few paces from him...

“What the actual fuck, Granger?!”

He could have smirked with dark pleasure at the obvious shock in her widened eyes, but then she drew her lips inward, pressing them into a thin line. Her grip on an ugly beaded bag tightened.

She seemed determined to remain professional. As if she hadn’t watched him cower and shrink against his mother while she wailed and screamed. As if she hadn’t been there when he tried to end it all one way of the other by capturing Potter in the Room of Hidden Things...

“It was a careless question,” she murmured, loosening her hold of her bag, wandlessly levitating it to the small table near the center of the room. “I’m sorry, what I meant to ask was -”

“Salazar, witch!” Draco wiped his hands over his pants before giving an irritated rake at his tangled filthy hair, as if either action would improve his appearance. “I swear to Merlin if you sodding apologize to me one more sodding time, I will pound on the door -” He made a fist, raising it over his head in wanting “- and have that fucking ray of sunshine waltz me back to my cell. And maybe if he’s feeling particularly pleasant or gracious today, I’ll actually make it back to the cell without getting slapped or slammed into a wall.”

She hissed a strangled breath, looking as though she wanted to comment, to interject some horrified sentiment, but he shoved himself away from the stone, stalking to her, sneering. He was towering over her now. Ages of tumultuous pent-up guilt and shame had now come to a boiling head because because the fucking Gryffindor Princess had the audacity to apologize to him.

“You pity me, don’t you?” He sneered. “You shouldn’t. I don’t give a damn if this is your job, and your observations here today are going to be for some law that will be for the betterment of all wizarding kind. I’m here because I deserve this, do you hear me?” He lowered his face to hers, straining with every fibre in his being to not allow her bewitching scent to calm the storm within. “I deserve this,” he repeated, proud of the cold cynicism in his voice.

Granger swallowed, and perhaps even shivered, for she now wrapped her arms around her middle as she took a hesitant step backwards, inclining her head to him. “What makes you believe that?” she asked.

His heart stammered and stuttered at the simple inquiry. Something so mundane shouldn’t pleasure and warm him, but, _oh, it did_. Perhaps it was because it was the first real question anyone other than his mother or Severus had asked with the desire for an honest answer in return. Or, maybe he just hadn’t had a true conversation in so long...

“Because it’s true,” he deadpanned, though, admittedly lacking in his previous malice and anger. “I was the fool who idolized my father, never questioning or doubting when he drilled into me the superiority of being not just a pureblood, but a Malfoy. I followed his orders blindly, loathing and hating my peers because of their so-called inferior blood.” He paused, gaze lingering on her neck where Aunt Bella had held her captive by a knife, where he’d seen her bleed blood as red as his.

“I’m the delusional coward who should have found a way for my mother to escape after Father was arrested, instead of giving myself over to a crazed, mass-murderer with a burning passion for immorality.”

He took a step in her direction again. “I’m the gutless filth who couldn’t sway the Carrows from their use of Unforgivables on first years and rule breakers.” He stepped again, anger dissipating, leaving ashes and ruin in its wake. “I’m the one who still wanted to save his mother and himself and couldn’t outright deny it was Potter, Weasley or you. I couldn’t do the right thing and jump to save you from my aunt.” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Much as I should have and would go back and do it all differently now...it’s too late. I chose wrong over and over.”

He waved both hands about the room and then over the length of his body. “I deserve this maddening hell,” he finished, uncertain if she heard his final admission, for he couldn’t be sure he’d heard it himself.

Granger said nothing as she stared back at him. Studying, but not clinical. Perceiving, but not judging. Understanding, but not being deceived.

There was a depth in her twin chocolate irises that called out to him. It pierced into his very soul, shining and shimmering. He squeezed his eyes, unable to bear the weight of it anymore, balling his fists tight.

“Have a seat, Malfoy.”

One curious eyelid lifted of its own accord as his face turned to look over his shoulder, and then blinking back at Granger. She’d conjured a sofa, plump, plush and green with silver and red pillows. She gestured again. “Have a seat,” she said, even as she stood near the table, wand poised over her bag.

“No thanks,” he clipped, dignity, pride and self-preservation winning out for time being.

Granger shrugged, a slight bend upward to her lips, as if she’d expected him to refuse her first two invitations. She gave a flourishing wave over her bag, nodding in approval as several items obeyed her command, hovering, as if waiting for further instructions.

Draco squinted, not trusting his eyes to see things clearly at the moment. Some of those shrunken objects looked like...

Granger spoke and waved again.

And bright green garland grew and unfurled, mimicking the witch’s sweeping movement and draping itself over the four walls of this dreary room. With another flick, Granger twined red berries and silver ribbons all about the lush greenery, matching the sofa and pillows.

Another flick later and dozens and dozens of candles enlarged and lit, a single ribbon of red, green or silver made into a bow around each. Granger ordered them to arrange themselves about the room, hovering close to their heads, covering him in an invisible cloak of golden warmth.

As he gazed in veritable awe, he caught faint sound of popping and cracking of wood. His gaze dropped from the wondrous candle display to find Granger luminous and radiant all her own. She was focused on the space between them, where she began enlarging a Christmas tree to its apparent full height at just under his shoulders.

“I thought we might decorate together,” Granger suggested, walking up to him with a box of ornaments and garland.

A consuming lump formed in his throat, and he shook his head in the negative, sinking back into the sofa, too overwhelmed to speak. It was already Christmas; his sentence was halfway complete. And Granger had come...for a job...involving Christmas decorations?

He arched a sceptical brow at Granger, but all she supplied in return was an acknowledging nod before setting the box on the floor, pulling out silver garland, arranging it up and around the tree in contended silence.

The silence continued as she came back around, reaching for various ornaments, one or two at a time. There were colored balls, little girl figurines, tiny framed pictures and glittering toys and animals. She looked back at him, studying again before she pulled out the last item.

A large glittering silver star.

“My dad would put me on his shoulders so I could put the star on the tree when I was younger,” she volunteered, reverent and soft, setting the star on the top of the tree. “It would always be crooked, but he never let Mum fix it. We started going away for Christmas when I got older, and then there were times I didn’t go home, or didn’t stay long...” She trailed off, sorrow in her voice, pinning him with a look of pained regret and a tiny measure of shame.

He swallowed hard, tensing as she not only sat beside him on the couch, but leaned back into the sofa, angling her delicate body towards his. They sat just like that for countless moments, breathing in the quiet warmth of Christmas Granger had brought, each breath chipping away at frozen places in Draco’s heart.

He cleared his throat, not certain he wanted an answer to this, while being entirely certain he needed one. “If it’s Christmas, Granger, then you’re not working.” He blinked at her, cautious and careful. “Which means this isn’t an assignment...What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

She gave a nervous chuckle as she sat upright, her curls shiny under the glow of the the floating candles. “I’m sorry if my subterfuge caused you unnecessary anxiety, Malfoy. You’re not just a bleeding heart House-elf cause for me to get behind, and I wasn’t thinking that you might take this that way. Also, when I first inquired after your well-being, it was in reference to your head, as you’d just slammed yourself back against the door...”

“I’ve experienced worse pain than that,” he sniffed, rolling his eyes. “And no offense Granger, but how else was I supposed to take it?” He shifted, edging himself a little closer to her, angling his knees to hers. “You have to admit this strange. This is...it’s just...Shit. It’s buggering strange.” He was ashamed that he’d been so long without academic mental stimulation he couldn’t contrive a more refined way of putting it.  

“I know,” she agreed, chewing her bottom lip, glancing at the tree and back to him. “And if I’m honest, my reasons for all this aren’t as selfless as I wish they were.” She sighed and crossed one leg over the other, as if loath to admit a weakness or flaw. “But the second time thinking this through, it seemed like it could be...mutually beneficial.”

“How very Slytherin of you,” he snorted, although he couldn’t deny the delightful swelling in his chest.

“Yes, well,” she huffed, though not irritated. “I’m back at Hogwarts this year, and not working. So there’s that. To get here, on such short notice, though, Kingsley may have pulled a few strings or told a few white lies, which explains that moment with the guard. As to why I’m here, the short of it is that I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“I highly doubt that,” he scoffed.

“It’s true,” she affirmed simply. “The Weasley family needs this first Christmas just them and Harry’s taking some time to be alone at Godric’s Hollow.”

He waited for her to include something about her parents, but when the silence stretched, he prompted her. “And what about your parents?”

“A little complicated, but I’m not seeing them for a few days yet,” she responded, quick on the rebound before he had a chance to inquire further. “The other answer about why I’m here is that I have this...happy memory. From Christmas Eve four years ago.”

Draco’s brow furrowed as he thought back that far...Salazar, it felt like a lifetime ago. Four years was...

“You may not remember, it seems we’ve lived another life since then,” she continued, and he succumbed to the reflexive snort, ignoring her questioning arched brow. “The Yule Ball was ending and I’d already said goodnight to Victor. I didn’t feel like going back to the dorms just yet, so I went out to the courtyard to be alone. You found me while I was blubbering and blathering to myself all over the place actually...” She eyed him sincerely now. “I remember bracing for your sneer, or snarl...Some comment about my blood...Anything awful, to be honest.”

Draco winced at her honesty, and then tensed, freezing completely, as Granger closed the distance between them on the sofa and lay a warm hand over his forearm. He couldn’t look anywhere but her delicate, creamy hand.

“But then none of my nightmares came true,” she murmured, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “You didn’t say anything at all. You cast a warming charm over the stone steps, covered me with your cloak and sat down beside me. You sat in the silence with me until I finally felt ready to go back to the dorm.” She skimmed the length of his forearm down to his hand, tracing over his fingers until he flipped his hand, allowing her to slip her hand into his.

There was a trail of goose-pimples in the wake of her path, and he was one again speechless. The strength and compassion in this glorious witch continued to surprise him.

“What you did that night meant more to me than you’ll ever really know, Malfoy. I’ve held on to that memory and believed in that Draco ever since then. This Christmas seemed like the perfect opportunity to thank you. And to let you know you’re not alone.”

Draco maintained his rigid posture, allowing her to hold his hand, without applying any pressure of his own. Sensing his unease, Granger loosened her grip, squirming and started shifting away...

“Don’t,” he pleaded, dropping her hand to take it back, lacing his fingers through hers. He tugged her back into his atmosphere, floating his free hand to the wisps of her curls. “I haven’t...it’s been a while since I’ve had someone to talk to, to carry on a conversation with. And time is rather non-existent here, so I couldn’t tell you the last time I bathed.” He swallowed, shameful heat flooding his face. “But, thank you, Granger. This may be the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

The dainty pink tinging her cheeks was exquisite, and he found himself quite pleased to be the reason for it.

He waved around the room, indicating all the decor. “How did you managed all this?”

Granger smirked at him. “I’m allowed my wand still when visiting, but no other magical object. Technically,” she drawled, lengthening the latter word out for several beats. “My bag is Muggle with an undetectable extension charm on it, oh stop it...” She squeezed his fingers with hers in response to his raised brows, “And these are all old family Christmas decorations I had with me, so the only magic traceable on them is of my own doing, and I’ve set an alarm to clear it all away before the guard comes back.”

She flashed him a conspiring wink before tugging them both into the soft back of the sofa, giggling and staring at the tree.

“You see that camel over there?” she asked, pointing.

Draco squinted, focusing until he found the large funny looking ornament dangling from a small branch, obviously weighing it down. He hummed in the affirmative.

“That’s Camillo,” Hermione said. “I dropped her one year and she broke in three different pieces. My first act of accidental magic was putting her back together...It was a special ornament to Mum, and I just…” Her voice thickened, a slight tremor in her jaw.

Draco couldn’t keep his eyes from her. “Fixing broken things even then,” he murmured, something cracking inside him when a beautiful pink filled her cheeks and she nibbled on her lip.

Salazar, this couldn’t be the end...he had to see her again.

“Will you come back again sometime?” he croaked, berating himself at how desperate that came sounded in his ears. He meant it meant to be calmer, more inquisitive, less needy...

“If you’d like,” she murmured, grinning shyly.

“Please, yes.” His gaze flitted openly across her face and he decided to risk it after all, and tuck a stray curl behind her ear, blood thundering in his veins as her breath hitched when his finger brushed her ear.

“Then I will,” she confirmed, chewing her lip again in what appeared to be deep deliberation. “Your mother’s living with Andromeda,” she started slowly. “I have tea with them once a month with Harry...She seem to be doing...well.” She allowed her head to bob as she spoke the last word, giving him a look that said more than words. “If you’d like, I can see about bringing a letter from her next time. I can even bring in something for you to write with for you to send back a response while I’m here.”

That emotional lump in his throat formed again, with unbidden tears filling his eyes. He managed to choke out an affirmation that he would before looking back at the tree. The candles. The garland and ribbons. Savouring the simplistic beauty of these decorations.

He never knew Christmas could feel so much like hope.


End file.
